


The Lilac

by Jenalop3



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mentions Bruce's less than stellar relationship with his father, slight civil war spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenalop3/pseuds/Jenalop3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha joins Bruce on a trip back home, then Tony convinces Natasha to do something for Bruce and themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lilac

**Author's Note:**

> Minor spoilers for Civil War, nothing major. Just me getting frustrations off my chest, and building on that slight Iron Widow friendship.
> 
> At the time my lilac bushes were blooming, and they have gotten huge and full and they smell wonderful.

One of the first things Bruce did when he found himself a permanent home with the Avengers was to visit the little suburb outside of Dayton Ohio. Tony was ready with his jet, and Steve had a bag packed, but Bruce politely declined Tony and Steve’s offers to join him. He was able to keep his head down in much noisier places than Ohio. Instead he booked an early flight in coach and disappeared for the weekend. 

Natasha found it odd that he would choose to take a crowded plane, she figured the cramped space and small margin for error would have deterred the ‘Man whom barred the Hulk’ from any sort of commercial flights. But instead a blonde Natasha watched as Bruce sat comfortably a few rows ahead of her, headphones securely in place and a worn paperback spread open on his lap. 

There was no official mission, no commands from Fury or Hill, she was off her leash, slipped her collar and followed Banner more out of curiosity than anything else. She was on ‘Vacation’ which is a lovely way of saying benched, after the dust had cleared Fury had forcibly taken both she and Clint off active duty. Clint hadn't looked the gift horse in the mouth and shot off to the Farm faster than one of his arrows. Natasha was, of course, invited to tag along, and she was half tempted to, but Clint needed good one on one time with his small family, despite what he, Laura and the little ones say. So she lurked in the shadows, watching her new ‘team mates’, some people had Soap Operas, she had stalking. That's what brought her to dig and find were Bruce was headed, to book a ticket and don an itchy wig. Truth be told, this little mystery was far more fascinating then watching Stark ‘put the moves’ on Potts or Steve poking around the twenty first century. 

It was a short flight, nary two hours in the air from JFK to Dayton International. The flight was relatively smooth, a few minor cases of turbulence from the early spring gales, the flight landed on time an hour or two shy of lunch. Bruce collected his small carry-on and departed the plane. 

Natasha took her time, meandering about the terminal, keeping the top of Bruce’s shaggy head in her line of sight. He didn't seem to be in much of a hurry, true he was intent of leaving the hustle and bustle of the air port, but there was a certain lackadaisical air to his demeanor. Within an hour of landing, Bruce rented a car and was off. Natasha kept up her tail, followed him as he navigated his way through traffic and off the free way, a little past one o'clock he parked outside of a small café.

Natasha waited, parked a few blocks down, as she presumed Bruce ate lunch. She had done a loop when he had first entered, noted the entrances and exits before finding a comfortable spot to wait him out. She sat in the quite of her car, fingers tucked into the warmth of her coat for ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty, thirty, forty-five. She was seconds from investigating what was taking him so long, when he exited, arms loaded with a tray of coffee and a paper bag. 

He bypasses his car, and makes a bee-line for her own. Natasha rolled her eyes, the jig apparently up as he tapped at the glass of her window.

“You should feel proud of yourself, Doc, not many people can catch me in the act.” She raised an eyebrow and accepted the paper cup he passed to her.

His lips twitched under the slight scruff of his jaw and he shrugged a shoulder. “I figured SHEILD would send someone to keep an eye on me.” He jerked his chin at her nondescript four door. “Just didn't know it was gonna be you.”

She popped the plastic lid off the container and dipped her nose into the fragrant steam. “I'm not babysitting, Doc. Think of me as back up.” She gave him a sideways smirk and took a long pull of warm hazelnutty goodness. 

“You’re blonde.” He said, heavy brows pulled low, an odd furrow pinching between his eyes.

She gave her faux straw locks a gentle tug, “Don't worry Doc.”

The pinch eases from his face far to fast, and he appears to heave a small sigh. if Natasha didn't know any better she would say the Doctor liked her red hair.

“Here,” he passed the paper bag through. “They make damn good crullers.”

Natasha dug through the bag as she continued to follow Bruce. Now that he was onto her she didn't bother with keeping a distance, instead she pulled right along side of him as he made a second stop at a hardware store. She joined him as he entered the shop, coffee and cruller in hand.

“You weren't kidding with the doughnuts, Docs.” She said as she ripped the treat with her teeth, passing the other half to Bruce.

He nodded as he pushed a cart down an aisle, the right front wheel whirling and squeaking. “Mom used to take me early on Saturdays, early enough that we would get a half dozen from the first batch.”

“You grew up around here?” His file mentioned that he was born in Dayton, but grew up with his Aunt outside of Cleveland.

“Until I was ten.”

SHIELD tended to keep fairly good records on those they considered to be potential assest or threats, depending on how the cookie crumbled. She had some idea of Bruce’s early life, she knew his Father was unstable, paranoid and liked booze more than his family. She was aware that his Father beat his Mother to death in a drunken rage and that soon after Bruce was sent to live with his Aunt Susan. SHEILD was good with the cold unfeeling facts, they didn't concern themselves too much with the emotions that came attached.

“So, are you going to ask what we’re doing?” He questioned, piling a bucket and trowel into the cart.

She smiled up at him, licking the remaining sugar from the corner of her lips. “I like a mystery.”

Instead of her car, Natasha plopped herself into Bruce’s passenger seat, bag of crullers secured safely on her lap. He merely shrugged and loaded the bucket and trowel into the trunk. The next leg of the journey was quiet, the radio low, classic rock purred tinny from the speakers. Natasha let her attention roam along the flat landscape, the quiet contemplation over taking her.

She had little cause in the past to travel to Ohio, gazing out the window she was glad it had never really come up. The surroundings were flat and gray, scrub grass and a few smattering of trees with burgeoning green, the only color in the drab surroundings. It was a wasteland of dead industrial buildings and rotting coal towns. Potholes and cracked pavement was the order of the day as they bounced along the scraggy road, lines and lines of sagging chipped houses sat on either side. Twenty or thirty years ago the houses might have been the picture of the American Dream, each house on similar plots, porches, short drives with sheds in the back. Once upon a time the shudders were white, the siding was clean, the grass and gardens tidy. The streets and yards filled with children playing in the early spring air, neighbors leaning across hedges to share gossip, the friendly postman delivering mail.

What was once, was now long gone and only the ghost remained. The young had escaped and never returned, houses slump against each other their yards over grown with crab grass, and the sidings could have used a good scrubbing. Every so often one house tried to hold its head up and shine with as much pride as it could gather, but that was few and far between.

As they meandered down the street, dodging potholes, Natasha kept a surreptitious eye on Bruce. There was little change in the grim set of his mouth, perhaps a bit more pinching to the corners of his eyes, but he was rigid in his seat as his eyes swept the street before him.

“Your old stomping grounds?” She asked lightly, keeping her gaze trained on the passing homes.

He hummed an affirmative. “Not exactly as I remember it.”

“Things change.”

His brows drew together and he pointed to a house with faded blue paint and a porch with scruffy grass green indoor/outdoor carpeting. “The Lady who lived there baked the best banana bread.”

He nodded to another house with a large stump in the front yard, that someone thought to dress up with a plastic flower pot full of faded silk flowers. “ The biggest Rottweiler you had ever seen used to live there. Not a mean bone in that dogs body, he would make his way from house to house collecting treats.” 

A small smile spread across his face. “The man who lived there would chase us off with a broom for playing Captain America in his petunias.”

She smiled with him, trying to imagine a pudgy little Bruce rolling around in dirt and flowers with the neighborhood rascals, causing trouble. 

“I bet that was fun.”

“It wasn't bad, I don't think I was a half bad Steve Rogers.” A small chucked escaped his mouth.

“I’ll have to tell Steve your gunning for him.” Natasha teased, finishing off the cold dregs of her coffee.

Bruce smoothly turned left at the end of the block, slowed and parked in front of number 710. His small grin faded as he mechanically shut off the engine. He gazed up at the house through the glare on the window, hands falling into his lap, his breathing was deep and deliberate as his teeth worked at his bottom lip.

“That it?” Natasha asked.

“It’s yellow now.” His voice was breathy with a slight hitch. “ It used to have that faux brick siding, that thin gritty stuff, you know?”

Natasha didn't know, but that really didn't matter.

“You ready?” She asked softly instead.

Bruce pursed his lips and nodded. 

Natasha walked with him up the short concrete path, Bruce paused, distracted by the view of the porch. Bare wood slates supported aging wicker chairs and potted house plants.

“I remember the porch being bigger.” He muttered, before remembering himself and rapping on the storm door.

A dog immediately began barking, deep and throaty, heavy paws scrabbled across bare floors as the dog barreled for the door. Bruce jumped in surprise taking a step back and bumped into Natasha’s shoulder. She reached up and patted his back and gave him a quick reassuring smile, before a woman in a polka-dotted house dress opened the door. She held a large mixed breed by the collar as it pulled forward, hid ears forward and nose out, his tail slapped at the woman's knees his entire hind end moving.

“Shep, back.” The woman pulled the dog behind the jamb. “Hold on one second.” She shoved the excitable dog back and quickly blocked the space with her body and the door.

“I'm sorry, can I help you?”

“Oh no, I'm sorry for disturbing you.” Bruce stepped forward, any melancholy gone from his voice, he held out a hand to the woman. “My names Bruce and this is..” He gestured behind him.

Natasha stepped forward and grasped the woman's hand. “Natalie.” She supplied with a large benevolent smile. 

Bruce shot her a quick look before turning back to the woman. 

“Nice to meet you both.” The woman raised a curious brow.

“Ummm.” Bruce falters for a moment, gaze drifting behind the woman. “I, um, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I used to live here, you see, and I was in town.” He starts awkwardly.

The woman's eyes squinted as she sized Bruce up and down.

“When I was young, my Mother planted a lilac bush in the garden, I was curious if it was still there?” 

The woman nodded following along. “It's still there.”

Bruce’s face lit up instantly. “It is!”

She nodded again, a kind smile spreading across her face.

“I don't want to be a bother, but, would it be alright if I could get a few runners. It would mean a lot to me. I brought a bucket and a trowel.” He jerked his thumb back to the car.

“I have a good shovel.” The woman shouldered open the door, immediately grabbing the dog. “Come on in. Don't mind Shep, he doesn't bite, just gets excited.”

True to her word, the moment the door was closed and his collar released, Shep curiously sniffed at Bruce and Natasha’s coats. He apparently decided that he liked Natasha more, as he shoved his head under hrt hand demanding attention. She smiled down at the dog and obliged him, scratching behind his floppy ear.

“I've been here for a while.” The woman commented, leading them deeper into the house. Bruce’s gaze drifted as they walked through the narrow hall, taking in the floral wallpaper and sea green carpets. He paused at a small alcove in the wall, perfect for a rotary phone. He ran his fingers over the small ledge, dodging the edges of a picture frame.

“We left when I was young, but I remember Mom adored that lilac.”

“I’d dig the runners out for you, but my back isn't what it used to be. The shovel is in the shed, help yourself to whatever you want off it.” She held the back door open for the both of them, Shep following Natasha.

The lilac bush stood at the end of the yard dwarfing the neighboring shed. Even now, in early spring it was plump and full, it's branches gnarled and twisted spreading high and wide. Bruce took a moment to admire the bush, the only thing of beauty in this floundering neighborhood. He reached out and caressed the dark green leaves, the ends of the branches sporting clusters of tight dark purple buds.

“Mom planted this when she first moved in.” Bruce said as Natasha fell in beside him, inspecting the plant. “I helped her prune and care for it.”

He gently lifted a cluster of buds, the deep purple a stark contrast to his pale skin. “When it would bloom I’d help her pick the biggest clusters, she would cut them with the kitchen shears and she would put them in a pitcher on the dinning table.” He leaned in and pressed his nose to the small buds. “The entire house smelled like lilacs. For little flowers, they pack a big punch.”

Natasha leaned forward and pressed her nose into the cluster that Bruce was still holding. She took a deep breath, but smelled nothing except rain and hand soap.

“When they bloom.” He amended sheepishly, heading for the shed and the shovel.

*

Natasha reached out and stroked the lilac’s leaves fondly as Stark prattled on. The single runner she and Bruce had carefully dug up and smuggled onto a plane so long ago, was now potted and pushed to the far corner of the lab. The little runner had done surprisingly well in the large pot and harsh artificial lab light, Bruce regularly tended to it nurturing it for almost three years. It hadn’t bloomed yet, it was still to young and gangly, but Bruce was convinced it would soon. Natasha felt her throat constrict at the thought of Bruce not ever seeing the little lilac’s first bloom.

“Are you going to do something with it?” Stark didn't even look up from his pad as he addressed her, stylus rolling between grease smeared fingers.

“With what?” She asked, blinking away her thoughts.

“The damn tree.” He looked up from his pad, face scrunched up in annoyance. “That pot was only supposed to be temporary.”

“I dunno.” She turned back to lilac, those might have been little buds if she wasn't mistaken.

Stark sidled up next to her gazing down at the little plant. “We should plant it. There's tons of room at the Facility.” He shrugged and sniffed “Anyway, it's attracting gnats.”

“You think that would be ok?” She asked, hand still caressing the leaves like a child's hair.

“I’d think he’d want us to plant it instead of letting it die.” Stark shrugged, crossing his arms and fingering his beard.

“Probably.” Bruce should be the one to plant it, she thought. “Plants do last longer if you water them.”

Stark scoffed, but didn't deny the accusation.

*

Natasha was an old pro at digging deep ditches, some would be surprised to know a spy and assassin are mostly responsible for disposing of their own kills themselves. As such,?Natasha had gotten in a lot of practice. 

Stark doing manual labor on the other hand, now that was a treat. He was a little enthusiastic about chucking his shovelfuls into the wheelbarrow, and ended up with more dirt on him than his target. His lip curled and he swore under his breath, but he never let up the therapeutic shink shink shink of his shovel piercing earth in time with hers.

The day had started overcast and gloomy, a chill breeze blew off the mountains to wash over the duo. The gray clouds hung heavy and low carrying the scent of rain. Despite the dreary weather, neither let up their work. It was good work, Natasha thought, mindless, but with a purpose. They had chosen a spot for the little lilac just in front of the residential area of the Facility, so that no matter which window you looked out of you would be sure to get a glimpse of dark green leaves and - if the breeze was kind – smell the heady perfume of the small delicate flowers.

With a final thrust, Natasha planted her shovel deep into the dirt, and using it as a support, climbed out of their hole. She stretched, reaching behind her letting her shoulder blades kiss, easing the tension from stiff overworked muscles. She caught a wave from Rhodey, seated in his chair with his phone out and recording from high on the second floor. He was every bit the opportunist when it came to blackmail material for Tony Stark, there wasn’t much that would embarrass the Armored Avenger, Rhodey had to take what he could get when the opportunity arose. Rarely would you find the normally dressed to impress Tony Stark elbows deep in muck and mud. But here he was, sweating and red faced, his dark A-shirt damp under his arms and his hair a complete disarray. She hoped Rhodey had a good zoom on his phone, she defiantly wanted pictures.

“That should be deep enough.” She said taking pity on her unlikely friend.

“You think?” Stark asked, dropping his shovel and rolling out of the barely knee deep hole.

Natasha nodded and squatted by the potted lilac, inspecting the plant, thinking about her plan of attack. In the end it was fairly simple, it just took a gentle hand and a bit of maneuvering, and they had the little lilac planted, if it was a little crooked nobody seemed to care.

Natasha and Stark took a step back to examine their handy work, as a garden hose flooded the little ditch around the base of the plant.

Stark rubbed his dirty hands over his expensive ‘work jeans’. “Not bad for a day's work, eh Romanov?”

“It could have been better, but I think we get a pass for being novice gardeners.” She playfully dug her elbow into his ribs. “Though I don't think the little old ladies down at the Garden Club would appreciate all the colorful language.”

He snorted and elbowed her back. “I bet you those Raisins are more licentious then you think.” He said wagging his eyebrows, an over exaggerated wicked grin spread under his goatee.

“Tony, they’re German Baptists.”

His nose curled as he looked down at her. “So. Those bonnets are just there to make them look innocent.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes at the ridiculous image he painted. Leave it to Tony Stark to debauch devout matrons for a joke.

It was a mark of the times that when he threw a dirty, sweaty arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side she didn't throw him and break his arm on instinct. Though she did stiffen a bit as he held her close, his eyes gazing past the little lilac they had planted.

“He’ll come back, Nat.” Stark's jaw worked and he blinked his eyes hard. He stared resolutely out over the horizon, eyes tracking the undulating and pulsing mass of starlings, the flock dipping and looping across slate gray skies.

Natasha nodded in agreement, relaxing into Stark’s side, resting her head on his shoulder and letting her hand grip his waist.

“So will she.” She closed her eyes and let herself soak up the familial affection she never though she would feel outside of the Bartons.

“Yeah?” his voice was tight, the question painful and raw.

“Of course she will,” Natasha soothed, Tony let his cheek rest atop her hair, dropping a hesitant kiss to the crown of her head. “They all will, and we’ll be here when they do, because that's what family does.”

“We’ll be here.” He parroted.

Because they would wait until the end of their days for the most important people to come back to them. They wouldn't let their lives pass them by, but the door will forever stay unbolted and the light will shine strong through the night. They will stay here doing their best to protect the world through the restraints placed upon them, they will seek petty revenge upon Ross making his life just that much more harder, they will live here with their friends and family that have remained. 

Tony will stay for Rhodey, because Rhodey never gave up on him so he won't give up on Rhodey. He will be by his friends side, supporting his weight as he relearns to walk. He will work close to the man he thinks of as a brother, to make sure the Avengers survive.

Tony will stay for young Peter, so new and green and so alone. He wasn't sure what kind of mentor he could make, but he would be the support Peter needed. He couldn't stop the boy, nor did he want to, but he could make his path as smooth and easy as he could. Perhaps Peter will grow and learn and become the greatest of them all? Who knew, but Tony will be here to see it.

Natasha will stay for Vision. Poor sweet, innocent Vision, who is suffering through his first true bought of heartache. She will stay and keep him company, experimenting with recipes and discussing literature. She will stay and show Vision the movies Clint introduced her to. She will stay when he forgets that those who have been with him throughout his entire existence are no longer down the hall. She will stay and protect him

Natasha will stay for the Bartons; Laura, Cooper, Lila, and Little Nate. With Clint a wanted man, they needed someone who is willing to stay. And Natasha will, she will stay and keep an eye on the people who first saw past the spy and assassin and saw the scared young girl. She will support the woman who had welcomed her with open arms and the children who call her ‘Auntie’.

But mostly they stay for each other. They will stay and watch their backs, and hopefully someday their waiting will be over, and their family will be whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to anyone who lives in/likes Ohio. I'm sure it is lovely, I've only visited during the winter months, it was aweful and I hated it. That being said Bruce's home town is based in part on the town where my grandparents live, an old coal mining town an hour and a half outside of Pittsburgh. If you want to know what an apocalyptic United States looks like, visit any western PA coal mining town and you will know.


End file.
